Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.
Chapter 29: Secrets
Lancelot looked around the small fishing village they had rode into that evening, once they had made the coast. They had seen nothing on their ride, and had made good time. It was a small place, and smelled of fish and open salt water, the huts wood and wattle. It reminded him of the huts from his childhood. They were always cold in the winter months, and they would stuff the cracks with moss and furs. He imagined here that they would be colder.
They would rest and make for home in the morning.
They weren't really resting, however.
They were sitting at a large community fire, and Tristan was dancing, wine jug out flung, a russet-haired beauty held hand in hand as they stepped around the fire. People along the edge yelled out their encouragement, and the girl flipped her hair and laughed, Tristan mirroring her with his own laughter, his blue eyes sparkling in the firelight. Someone had produced a wood pipe, and another was drumming on an upturned pail for their beat. There was laughter and drink all around them, and an air of celebration.
So this was why he always volunteered for the run, Lancelot thought as he drank from his own small jug. He had never seen Tristan dance before. His step was light, and in fact, was very good.
Lancelot thought that Cerys would love to see this, so she could challenge the quiet man. She would enjoy a dance with him. But, he also knew that Tristan did not share this part of his world with them, hence this well kept secret. Not even he had ever seen the man so relaxed in all the years they had spent together. What happened here would be his own tale, if he chose to tell it.
It was a sight to marvel, however, and he watched as Tristan passed the girl off to another man, who picked her up and whirled her in the other direction.
The dance over, he came and sat beside Lancelot, a bit out of breath. He smiled over, took a swig from his jug and clapped Lancelot on the back.
"That one," He pointed then to a large Saxon-looking girl, "Wants to know your name."
"Did you tell her?" Lancelot replied, his eyebrow raising as he looked over to the girl. She winked at him and puffed out her chest. She was pretty, but he immediately thought of Cerys, and how delicate she was compared to this swarthy girl. He realized he was thinking on her again and he made a monumental effort to push her out of his head. Not tonight. Tonight he was not to think on such things.
"I told her you preferred boys."
Lancelot smirked and shook his head, then breaking out into laughter. "You rotten bugger."
Tristan shoved a shoulder into him and they each looked out the corner of their eyes at one another, both of them chuckling. This was truly what he needed. A chance to get away and not think of serious things. Relax and enjoy music and a roaring fire on a cool night. He could hear the surf in the distance, and it was a soothing sound.
"Is she yours by rights?" Lancelot asked, nodding his head at the russet-haired girl. Tristan shook his head, sobering a bit.
"Why not?"
"No life for her with me." He stated, drinking again. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared into the fire.
Lancelot nodded, his hands coming together as he rested his arms on his knees and set his jug down. He knew that feeling so well. He could not get away from her in his mind, even when he tried.
An older woman hobbled over to the two men, and Lancelot got up from his seat to offer it to her. She smiled a toothless grin and he helped her down to the wooden bench, holding her hand. She groaned as she sat, the effort obvious. He sat on her other side, so she could be between Tristan and himself.
"Such nice men to offer an old woman a warm place by the fire." She said, patting Tristan on the knee and then holding her hands to the fire.
"Rhia, this is Lancelot." Tristan said, gesturing to Lancelot. "He came for the ride."
Rhia looked at Lancelot. Her face was gnarled from years of sun and sea, the tattoos on her cheeks faded and folded into the wrinkles. Her grey hair was poking out from under a hood, and he could just make out more tattoos on her arms, snaking up and into the sleeves of her cloak, also much faded. Her eyes, however, still held a sparkle, and made Lancelot smile.
"It is very nice to meet you Rhia." He said as he bobbed his head to her.
She looked at him then, her eyes darting across his face. She tutted with her tongue and put a hand to his chin. She sighed then, and patted him on the knee.
"You are a troubled young man." She said sadly. "I see confusion in your eyes."
Lancelot darted a glance to Tristan, who had stuck his tongue to his top lip in attempt to keep his laughter in check.
"Rhia is the village seer." Tristan said, eyes dancing. "She can see into your soul and tell you what you are thinking."
Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "Seer eh? Tell me Rhia, can you see inside me?"
She shifted a bit in her seat so she was turned towards him. She tilted her head. "I see you are much like this man here." She gestured to Tristan. "You fight well, you kill well."
"We are knights, Lady, we are trained to fight and kill." He replied, an eyebrow raised.
"You are more than mere warrior, are you not?" She said, peering closer to him.
Lancelot sighed. Would this be her insight? That he was this magnificent being that would help the stem the tide, that he was descended from some-or-other of their Gods. He smiled and tilted his head the same as hers.
"We are trained to be such. I am afraid I do not understand your meaning."
She tutted again. "Look into yourself and find another. It is there."
Another what? He never had patience for these riddles, and he was not prepared to think on things such as this when he wished to relax and not think on anything. He sighed and went to rise. Rhia's hand came out to his arm and stopped him.
"This is the source of your confusion, is it not?" She said with more force, her small hand grasping his sleeve. "You see only the killer in your soul."
Lancelot stopped. He looked again to Tristan, who was studiously ignoring their conversation. Had he talked the woman into this? No, he had been with the man most of the time and this was their first meeting. He wrinkled his brow and pressed his lips together. Perhaps this woman could see. She must have some sort of religion in her.
"And what God helps you see this?" He said, defending his pride at being read so well.
"Manawydan is my God." She said. "He lives in me. He is in you."
"Bah! I have no God." Lancelot spat, his eyes turning to the fire.
"But you believe in something."
Lancelot shook his head again, this truly was a strange evening. First he had seen Tristan dancing, now he was being berated by an old woman about Gods and seeing into souls. He needed to take a walk, check on the horses.
"I believe in my own ability to live." He said with finality, and rose. "Further than that, I cannot help you."
She shook her head and smiled softly. "Stubborn."
"He is." Tristan snorted.
Lancelot turned and left at that point. He made his way from the fire and towards the picketed horses. Sky was standing, hip rested against Klyndd. Lancelot sat cross-legged at their noses, listening to rustle the hay at their feet. Klyndd snuffed at his knees, then went back to eating, sharing with Tristan's horse the pile they were moving about.
Sky nipped at Klyndd's nose softly, the larger dark horse squealing quietly and shaking his head. Lancelot reached out and tweaked his nose, earning an upturned lip from the horse as he protested the slight from Sky.
"You really are a huge chicken, you know that?" He told his horse as he leaned on his legs and sagged.
"He is beautiful." a voice said from behind him.
Lancelot swivelled to see the russet-haired girl come up behind and sit beside him. He made room for her and she passed him a jug. He drank from it, wiping his chin on his tunic sleeve.
"Thank you." He said. "What's your name?"
"Wynn."
"I am Lancelot, Wynn. It is nice to meet you."
She smiled and took a drink from the jug, setting it between her crossed legs. She held a bit of hay for Sky, who reached out with his lips and grabbed it from her. She touched his nose softly with her fingers.
"Tristan never brings friends." She said suddenly.
"Tristan likes being alone."
She nodded. He could see some sadness in her, and he wondered at their story. How long had she known the knight, he wondered. How long had they been lovers?
"How long has he been coming here?" Lancelot asked.
Wynn thought quietly for a moment. "Three, no... four years, I think. He stays for one night and then rides home again. You are one of the knights he tells us of, are you not?"
"Tristan talks?"
"Oh yes! He tells the most wonderful stories of your battles, the stories of how you used to fight for Rome. I am glad he serves the King now. It is very noble." She replied, her voice happy at the thought.
"He doesn't speak much with us, never has. When we were in training and newly conscripted, we thought he had no tongue, he did not speak for years."
"He never spoke here until I urged him to tell us of his life." She said softly. "Tell me, who is Cerys? He speaks of her sometimes."
Lancelot groaned and rubbed his face. There was no peace this night from his torment. The girl made it obvious she cared for the man, by asking about the only other woman that Tristan would have in his life. Of what did he talk about Cerys?
"Cerys is the King's cousin, and our friend. She is close to Tristan as a sister more than anything." He sighed. She was going to make him talk about her. He resigned himself to it.
"Oh." She said, her eyes darting off, relief showing on her face. "She is a wife to one of the other knights then?"
Lancelot shook his head as pictures of Cerys drifted into his mind. He could see her, standing; hold his hands, drinking from her cup, her eyes dancing, and her hair wild about her head. He got lost in his own thoughts for a moment as he remembered their kiss.
He missed her at that moment, and he felt very lonely.
He blinked and looked up to Wynn, and felt a wave of regret for Tristan. She was a beautiful girl.
"No, she is not." He looked away, swallowing hard. Damn, why had that admission upset him so much?
They sat for a few moments together, in silence. She sighed and brushed her hand through the hay, fluffing it, grasping at bits, pushing it up to the horse's noses. Klyndd cleared his nose and kicked it back to her, and she repeated the process, pushing it back under his nose.
"Do you love him?" Lancelot asked, not understanding why he asked. For some reason, he wanted to know. It was a mystery to him, this side of Tristan.
Her eyes were sad, her face in the moonlight showing him the answer without any words spoken.
He didn't respond, and they sat in silence, sharing the jug for a moment more. Lancelot heard footsteps behind him, familiar from years together.
"Tristan." He said without turning.
Tristan looked to Wynn, sitting cross-legged beside his horse and his friend. He swayed slightly, the drink showing in his face. He heaved himself down to the ground beside her, his arm going out around her shoulders, his legs braced out in front of him, his knees bent. She leaned into him, burying her face to the crook of his neck. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
Lancelot rose from his seat to head back towards the fire. He felt a bit in the way now.
He nodded to Tristan as he rose and their eyes met. Tristan raised a hand and clasped Lancelot's, his grip firm and his eyes set hard. A look of understanding passed between them and Lancelot let go and turned away.
Tristan blinked and then turned his attention to the woman in his arms. She may not have been his by rights, but he loved her, that was evident from the look on his face as she had come close to him. He was happy to be with her, but it was happy and pained in one breath.
Lancelot walked away, his own heart heavy at his friend's sadness and his own dilemma.
Dear Reader:
Alright, I hope I have not made too many Tristan fans say "huh?".
I hope truly that this was an enjoyable chapter for you. I enjoyed writing this side of Tristan. Tristan knew that Lancelot needed to get out and clear his head of Cerys, and it means sharing his secret. Perhaps Tristan is ready to let it out that he does feel? Did killing that girl change his mind, thus letting him share a coast run with someone else? Of all people, perhaps Lancelot will understand since he too is loving a woman he thinks he cannot have, or is afraid to have. Perhaps Tristan understands that Lancelot needs to see that he understands and this is a way to show him? Or is there another reason...
I am looking forward to the reviews for this chapter. Ailis-70, this one is for you. Tristan is passionate, I see that in your story, and it inspired me.
Cardeia
